Choices
by MariaShadow
Summary: G1Suspicions rise as there is an attempted murder at the Ark
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

Prowl liked the nightshift. For the most part, the Ark was peaceful, allowing the tactician ample time to think. He ran his hands over the keyboard, sifting through the various perimeter scans and internal security cameras, ensuring that his charges were safe.

The doors behind him hissed open and someone walked in. At this time of night it could only be one person, but he wasn't supposed to be here yet. Prowl swivelled around to greet the newcomer and request an explanation, only to find himself staring down the barrel of a gun. "What…what are you doing?" He demanded, unable to accept what his optics were showing him.

"Sorry Prowl, nothin' personal."

_Bang!_

Teletran detected the weapons fire and immediately triggered the alarms. The attacker swore, hurriedly finished his task and ran, but not before taking a moment to reposition Prowl's limp body so that he was lying on his side, the tactician's back facing towards the door.The attackergot outside and transformed, tires squealing and smoking as he fled.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Prime charged into the control room, rifle drawn. "Prowl, sta…" He trailed off in shock, optics wide. "Oh Primus, no." He twisted around and yelled to the approaching Autobots. "Ratchet, get in here, NOW!"

The medic quickly arrived, emergency kit in hand. "Outta my way." He barked, shoving Optimus aside. Ratchet knelt beside the downed Autobot and gently rolled him onto his back, heedless of the pool of energon and fluids surrounding the mech.

Ironhide, Wheeljack and the twins arrived just in time to see Ratchet suddenly recoil in shock before diving into his work. "Wheeljack, gimme a hand!" He ordered. The other Autobots came closer as the engineer and the medic started trading rapid fire medical jargon.

"What happened?" Prime demanded. Ratchet struggled with Prowl's blackened chest plate, tearing at the clasps for a moment before they finally gave way. "Looks like a single shot, point blank range, standard issue laser pistol. It just skimmed above his spark chamber, otherwise we'd be having a funeral right now." The CMO grunted and swore viscously, pulling away the charred wiring and internal components while Wheeljack deftly spliced in emergency power packs and crimped shut the leaking tubes and fuel lines.

"But…who?" Sideswipe asked, warily scanning the room for any possible threats.  
"An assassin, hit-mech, or just someone who would want Prowl dead." His twin replied coldly. "Looks like they botched it royally though."

"For which I am very thankful." Optimus rumbled, optics dark with outrage. "Sideswipe, Sunstreaker. Stay with Prowl at all times. If whoever it was finds out that Prowl is still alive, they will try again. Ironhide, raise the Ark to full combat alert and call in all patrols."  
"Will do, Prahme." The older mech replied, cracking his knuckles in anticipation. "Ah can't wait t' git mah hands on th' lil' glitch responsible fer this."  
"Neither can I." The Prime replied.

0o0o0

The atmosphere was bleak as remaining officers assembled in the briefing room. Ratchet and Wheeljack were still in the OR with Prowl, the twins maintaining watchful vigil over them. Spike and Sparkplug were also there, lending their skills to the CMO.

The door slid open and Jazz limped in, his face uncharacteristically grim. "Sorry, got a double blow out on th' way in from patrol an' had t' hoof it." He apologised, taking his seat at the long table.  
"Understandable." Prime replied. "What have you found so far?" He asked of Red Alert.

"Nothing." The officer frowned, deeply upset that someone had managed to circumvent his painstakingly monitored security net. "Whoever it was used a data disk to download a virus into the sensor grid. It's wiped all sensor and internal tracking information from the past 24 hours up to the point where we were able to stop it. Anyone could have gotten in! _Anyone!_ "  
"Easy Red Alert, we're locked up tight. If anyone was still here, we'd know." Prime soothed the increasingly jittery mech.

"Wouldn't Teletran 've logged th' transponder o' th' user who input th' data disk?" Jazz queried.  
Red Alert shook his head. "No. Whoever it was, they used Prowl's hand to touch the controls. Teletran only recorded his signature." He explained.  
"Where was Prowl shot?" Jazz queried.  
Ironhide tossed a datapad over the table. "Upper chest. Th' shot just skimmed his laser core."

The Special Ops officer skimmed over the data for a minute. "Seems t' me like this ain't an assassination." He commented.  
"How so?" Prime asked.  
"Well, th' sensible shot woulda been here," Jazz pointed to his forehead, just above his visor, "instant kill. A chest shot is easier t' mess up. Maybe t' kill wasn't th' intent. Perhaps we should rig somethin' t' make it look like Prowl died o' his injuries. That might draw this dude outta hidin'."

"It is something to consider." Optimus mused, rubbing the bottom of his mask in thought.  
"What Ah still wanna know is who did it." Ironhide announced. "Th' sensors were fine 'fore this all happened. If a Con came even close we'd 'a known about it. Th' only other option is that one o' us did it, an' there ain't no Autobot here who would even think o' hurtin' Prowl."

"There is Bombshell to consider." Perceptor quietly suggested. An instant hush fell on the room as the occupants considered the unpleasant connotations of such an event.

Jazz spoke first. "Mirage has a knack fer recoverin' data." He said. "I'll get him on lookin' though an' seein' if he can dredge anythin' up. An' I'll have Bumblebee quietly go 'round an' verify where everyone was b'fore an' after th' shooting."  
"And Ah'll supervise th' searchin' o' th' crime scene." Ironhide volunteered.  
"Good. There is one last matter to clarify." Prime said, giving everyone at the table a close look. "If there are any Autobots implicated in this event, that information does not leave this room. Clear? Good, dismissed."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2

Prime slipped inside the Repair Bay, trying to make as little noise as possible. Wheeljack was sprawled on a bench, not having bothered to scrub before shutting down for a few blissful hours of rest. Spike and Sparkplug had also passed out, the pair asleep on a small stack of clean rags. Sideswipe was leaning against the wall beside the engineer, arms at his sides and face blank in a very light recharge state that left all systems running but the mind at rest.

At the sound of footfalls the red warrior stirred and snapped into full alertness, rifle in hand. He saw the commander and relaxed slightly, gesturing to the operating theatre. Optimus nodded his thanks and quietly entered.

Ratchet was leaning over his patient, adjusting something on one of the myriad of devices surrounding the wounded Prowl. Sunstreaker stood just beside the door, gun in hand and optics averted out of respect for the tactician.

"Status?" Optimus asked in that quiet hush reserved solely for hospitals and repair bays.  
"Alive and stable, barely." Ratchet grunted as he straightened and faced the Prime, weariness evident in every line of his face and frame. "We almost lost him twice, but he's stubborn." The medic winced and rolled his shoulders in an attempt to ease the stiffness out of his joints. "Any progress on the investigation?"  
"Not much." Prime replied. "Sunstreaker, could you wait outside please? I need to talk with Ratchet in private."

Sunstreaker nodded and joined his brother in the outer ward.

"What's going on?" Ratchet asked, his tone slightly suspicious.  
Prime squared his shoulders. He hated having to suggest this, but if it would increase his 2IC's safety, then it was a necessary evil. "Will it be possible to simulate Prowl's death?" He asked.

The CMO raised both optic ridges in surprise. "Theoretically, it'd be easy. Why?"  
"Jazz has suggested that this may not have been an assassination."  
"Well, whoever it was will have a fragging hard time convincing me of that." Ratchet interrupted with a growl, arms crossed over his energon-splattered chest.  
"Agreed. But in any case there is the possibility that whoever organised this hit will try again. By spreading dis-information that Prowl is dead, they will have no reason to attempt to finish the job." Prime explained. "Is there any way to do it?"

Ratchet frowned, optics narrowed in thought. "Considering the damage, it would be plausible for Prowl's laser core to fail, thereby cutting all power to his spark and killing him. His body and neurological systems would remain intact as he's on full life support as it is. Saying that we want to wait until Prowl's self-repair has completed restoring his main nervous system so that we can download the information in his memory banks would be a valid reason for keeping this equipment on him. It's been done before. Some acting and the twins as witnesses should do the trick."

"True." Prime mused, internally shuddering at the detached way Ratchet explained it. _"It's probably the only way he can cope."_ The commander thought to himself. "How many people need to know?" He asked aloud.  
"Me, 'Jack and Sparkplug." Ratchet answered. "I'll talk it over with them tomorrow, but we'll wait until Prowl's vitals stabilise before we do anything."

"Understood." Prime replied. He crossed to the still black and white form, mindful of the surrounding mass of wires and tubes running in and out of Prowl's body. Optimus carefully laid one hand on the Datsun's shoulder. "Hold on Prowl, hold on." He murmured.

0o0o0

Ironhide ran a critical optic over the area, committing every detail to memory. Before he signed up with the Autobots he had served for a long time as a member of Iacon's security detail, and examining a crime scene had almost become second nature to him. "Alright, Ah want every square inch o' this command deck examined with a nano-scanner." He announced to the assembled mechs. "Hound, git me holograms an' measurements of anythin' an' everythin'. Bluestreak, Ah want as much data as y' can get me on th' actual shooting. Smokescreen, git anylisin'. I wanna know how this glitch thinks. Mirage, you know yer job already, an' everyone else I wanna see on hands and knees, lookin' fer anything remotely useful."

The mechs quickly went into action, not needing any further encouragement. One of their own had fallen, and they'd go to the Pit before letting the shooter get away with it.

0o0o0

Elusive and evasive, the evidence he sought lay amongst the fragments and corrupted files that hung in cyberspace. Mirage's mouth twisted into an expression of refined annoyance, silver fingers striking the keys in a restless stattico. Chip was being picked up by Skyfire from the airforce base in Colorado that he was currently working at. The human was good at working with the giant mainframe, but Mirage took it as a point of personal pride that if there was something hidden, he could find it.

The annoyed scowl grew deeper. Thusfar, little useful information was available. Perceptor was currently studying the virus in the hopes of unveiling something about its creator, but Mirage doubted that idea would bear fruit. He recognised the marks of an expert when he saw them. This was somebody who knew how to get in and out, quickly and quietly.

Mirage's mouth twisted again, but this time into a grim smile. At last, a challenge worthy of his skill. He bent his head to the task, long fingers continuing their dance upon the copper hued keys. Yes, this would be a most satisfactory hunt.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3

A day later, the officers were gathered again in the conference room, this time Hound and Smokescreen standing with them.

"We got somethin', it ain't much but it'll narrow things down a bit." Ironhide was saying, data pad in hand. "Show 'im Hound."  
The scout raised one hand and projected a hologram of the control room on the table, a small image of Prowl seated at his workstation to the side of the main control panel. Ironhide consulted his datapad for a moment. "Goin' by what we found, Prowl must've heard somethin' cause he stopped typin' at 0234." The old mech began. Hound twitched his fingers and the tiny Prowl stopped working and swiveled around. "It must've been someone he knew, cause he was still sittin' when he waz shot. Blue' calculated th' trajectory an' damage, an' he figures that th' attacker was around about th' same height as Prowl, standin' two meters away when he fired. From th' burn pattern, he used his left hand t' do th' shootin'."

A blue wireframe silhouette appeared in the hologram and shot Prowl, the tactician slumping back in his chair, arms dangling. Ironhide continued. "After that, we figure that 'e had 'bout two minutes t' download th' virus, position Prowl an' get out." The wireframe quickly went through the described actions before re-positioning the body and fleeing the scene.

"Any thoughts, Smokescreen?" Prime asked the psychologist.  
"Yes." The Subaru replied, speaking in tones of clinical detachment. "Placement of the body suggests familiarity with the victim, and wish to cause as little distress to the finders as possible. Someone with malicious intent would have turned the body to face the door, and if this were just a normal hit, they would have left the victim lying and not have taken the time to position him away from the door. Both actions appear to point to the attacker knowing both Prowl and us."  
The Prime's forehead creased in thought. "Thank you Hound, Smokescreen. You're dismissed." The two Autobots saluted and left.

"It all seems t' point back t' one o' us." Ironhide shook his head. "Ah jest don't get it. Who coulda done this?"  
"I am unsure." Optimus replied. "We must investigate all and any options before drawing a conclusion, Ironhide. Has there been any new information Jazz?"  
"Nothin' that we didn't know already." The Porsche answered. "All o' Prowl's enemies that we know about are either dead an' gone or are accounted for, Bumblebee hasn't found anyone without an alibi, an' Mirage an' Chip are still wrestlin' with Teletran."

"Ah'm gonna go over th' evidence again." Ironhide suddenly announced. "Thar's somethang missin' here. If anyone finds anythang, send it over t' me."

0o0o0

Hours later, the russet hued Autobot was still standing over the tables strewn with various items and samples recovered from the control room. He picked up Prowl's scorched and punctured chest plate, studied it for a moment, then laid it aside, instead selecting two datapads. Ratchet had meticulously listed every damaged or missing component for the investigation, and Ironhide carefully scrutinised both the list and the inventory of items identified as coming from Prowl.

"Hold up a cycle, what's this?" He muttered to himself, sorting through the bagged components, even going as far as to open one or two containers to get a better look at their contents and jotting his findings down on another data pad.

That task complete, Ironhide decided to take another look through the holograms that Hound had recorded before turning in. Nothing in particular jumped out at him, until about the sixth image.

Ironhide paused, checked the timestamp, then cross-referenced with his own visual recordings. "Slaggin' little construct of an electro-glitch!" He roared in fury, activating his radio. "Prahme, git down t' th' evidence lab!"

There was a startled pause, then a quick _"On my way."_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 4

"It's one o' us. It's th' only explanation." Ironhide gestured to the holographic images of the pool of fluids that had surrounded Prowl. "Ah know what Ah saw, an' Ah saw tread marks in th' energon on th' floor. Now they ain't there. Somebody's done tampered with th' crime scene recordings." He crossed his arms over his chest, glowering.

Prime silently studied the images, wishing that it were not true. "Who has had access to this room?" He asked finally.  
"Only th' officers, an' even then it's only been you, me an' Red Alert. I got an energy signature recognition system in th' door lock t' keep it secure." Ironhide replied. "But th' images ain't th' only thing Ah found. There's a missin' part."  
"Missing? What?"  
"Th' energy distributor cap off of Prowl's laser core." Ironhide passed the two lists to the Prime. "It wasn't at th' scene, an' there wasn't any residue from it, so Ah'm thinkin' th' perp took it."  
"Why?"  
"Dunno, but Ah'll remember t' ask 'im when Ah git mah hands on 'im." The warrior replied, cracking his knuckle joints to emphasise his intent.

"Ease off the throttle Ironhide, we can't be sure of anything at this point." Prime replied. "Make sure this information goes no further than us. The last thing we need is a witch-hunt."  
"Understood Prahme."

0o0o0

Ratchet stumbled into the Common Room and downed three mugs of energon in quick succession before collapsing in the nearest chair with a groan, one hand wearily rubbing his pale grey face.

"How's he doing?" Hound asked quietly, setting a fourth cup before the medic.  
"Stable, but shaky." Ratchet answered tiredly, accepting the energon with a grateful nod. He drained the cup and slumped in his chair with an exhausted noise.

He looked about ready to doze off when his radio suddenly warbled. Ratchet sat up, touched one hand to his audio and listened for a moment, then let out a paint blistering string of curses, lurched to his feet and sprinted out the door.

0o0o0

Mirage paused, fingers poised above the keyboard. "Hello, what's this?" he murmured. A series of keystrokes isolated the anomaly, two more brought up a scan of its contents. "Well, that's interesting."  
"What?" Chip asked, brown eyes never leaving his screen as he skimmed through the mainframe.  
"It's a virus-damaged radio recording, but the timestamp is from two days before the shooting. The virus shouldn't have touched it." The spy explained.

Chip frowned. "Can I take a look?" he asked. Mirage gestured to the screen. The human ran his hands over the keys. "You're right, it shouldn't have. And it didn't." He said, brow furrowed in concentration. "This file was deliberately fragmented soon after it was recorded. This guy is smart. All deleted files are copied and sent to Red Alert. By tampering with the file, it could be concealed among all the other files damaged when the virus hit."

"Can you get it into playable condition?" Mirage asked, quietly tucking the tidbit of information away for his own investigation.  
Chip massaged his stiff fingers. "Sure." He replied. "But I'll need you to translate for me, it's all in Cybertronian."  
"I'll be happy to."

0o0o0

Ratchet burst into the Repair Bay, all traces of his earlier exhaustion gone.

"Ratchet!" Wheeljack yelled over the wail of a monitor alert. "Get in here, Prowl's laser core is failing!"  
"What triggered it?" Ratchet demanded, snatching up an emergency power pack and splicing it into Prowl's systems. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker wisely stayed out of their way.  
"Dunno. He just started spiking, then power output dropped."  
"Rate?"  
"Approximately 12 percentevery thirty seconds."

Another alarm trilled. Ratchet swore and started stripping wires. "Slag it! Fuel pump is going into fribulation. Get it stabilised!"  
"On it."

The two medics worked frantically, then the trilling alarm gave way to a long electronic wail. "Oh no you fraggin' don't!" Ratchet snarled, yanking out wires and plugging in different ones. "You're not gonna get this one!"

Wheeljack stepped back. This was the pivotal moment, and Ratchet needed as few distractions as possible. The medic growled a stream of curses under his breath as he worked, optics narrowed in concentration and jaw set to one side. The wailing alarm continued on for a moment longer, then abruptly fell silent.

Ratchet stopped, his hands still resting within Prowl's chest cavity. "No." He whispered. "Not again."  
"Ratchet?" Sideswipe ventured.  
"He's gone." The medic replied quietly. "I lost him." Automatically, Ratchet picked up a rag and wiped his hands, then cleaned the worst of the fluid splatters from around Prowl's open chest.

"Do you want me to get the autopsy protocols?" Wheeljack asked.  
"No." Ratchet shook his head. "Prowl still has sensitive information in his neural net, not to mention the identity of his killer. Leave him on full life support. We'll have to wait for his self repair to finish fixing his systems before it can be accessed." He turned to the shocked twins. "Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, you're dismissed."

0o0o0

The news of the 2IC's apparent demise hit the Autobots hard. Disbelief turned to shock, shock turned to grief, grief turned to anger, and anger spurred the Autobots on in their search for the shooter. Whomever it was, they were not going to get away.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 5

"Well?" Mirage queried.  
Chip delicately adjusted a knob made for much bigger hands. "Just about got it." He grunted. "A little more and…there." He slumped back in his wheelchair. "Okay, that should do it. I've filtered out the worst of the static and cleaned it up as best as I could."  
"Good." Mirage replied. He reached out and hit the 'play' button.

A deep, gravelly male voice thrummed from the speakers, laced with static. Mirage frowned as he listened. "What's he saying?" Chip asked. "I don't recognise the dialect."  
The spy's frown deepened, a terrible suspicion growing within his spark as several things fell into place. "This investigation just made a U-turn." He got up to leave.  
"What do you mean?" Chip asked. "Mirage? Mirage!" But the spy was already gone.

The human stared at the doorway for a moment, then quickly activated the intercom.

0o0o0

Ironhide listened carefully as Chip relayed what Mirage had said. "Raight, thank you Chip. Ah'll tell 'im." He closed the comm. link and turned to Prime. "That was Chip. He says him an' Mirage uncovered some audio file, then Mirage just got up an' left. Chip reckons he's gone t' track down th' shooter on his own."

"Uplink to Teletran and find Mirage's transponder." Prime ordered. "I will _not_ have Autobots going off on their own on this."  
"Will do Prahme."

0o0o0

Mirage waited in a shadowy side corridor, his back pressed to the wall and a silenced laser pistol in hand. He would be here soon enough, Mirage thought grimly, fingering the trigger of his gun. Then, there would be revenge. One did not betray one's teammates without consequences, and Mirage would make sure that there would be suitable consequence for this crime, unlike the soft-sparked 'justice' that would be meted out from the commanders if the culprit were brought to them.

His fine-tuned audio sensors picked out the sound of approaching footsteps. The first were slow and measured, seconded by a quick patter of smaller feet. Mirage shrank back into the darkness as Trailbreaker and Bumblebee passed his hiding spot. An unusually heavy footfall confused him for a moment, until he realised that it was the twins, walking slower than usual but still in perfect sync with each other. Finally, he heard the sound he had been waiting for- a light tread with fairly long strides and a click from an ankle joint that still hadn't come quite right.

The blue and white tensed as the unseen mech approached, then as he came level with the corridor, lashed out with a left hook that left his target staggering, before dragging him into the darkness and pinning him to the wall; his left arm pressed against the culprit's throat and the muzzle of the gun forced into the seam under his chest. "Tell me," Mirage growled, "Why shouldn't I kill you right now?"  
"Because Ididn't have a choice." The captive mech replied quietly.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 6

One of Mirage's optic ridges curved in an expression of skepticism. "I find that somewhat hard to believe." The spy replied coldly. There was a click as he thumbed the safety off. "You never did get your ankle looked at after you slashed your own tires did you? Or were you too busy tampering with evidence and covering your aft?" Mirage's optics narrowed slightly. "How could you? How could you DARE do that to one of your friends?"

"MIRAGE! Stand down!" Prime bellowed as he slid to a halt, Ironhide a few seconds behind. "What in Cybertron's name is going on here!"  
Reluctantly, Mirage released his captive. "He's the shooter." The spy explained. "I was merely taking the appropriate course of action."

Prime's disbelieving optics turned to the Autobot. "Is that true?" He asked.  
"Yeah." Jazz replied, looking down at the ground in shame. "It was me."  
"But why?"  
"Like I said b'fore. I didn't have a choice." Jazz sighed. "It was either Prowl or some buddies o' mine back home. I couldn't risk that, not even for th' Autobots."

"I think you'd better start at the beginning." Prime said, still trying to wrap his head around this unexpected revelation.  
"Yeah. Guess I'd better."

Jazz leaned against the wall behind him, still not meeting anyone's optics. "It all started back in th' early days. I was a rookie, just outta th' Academy. 'Cause my mug-shot wasn't on anyone's wanted list yet, Prowl recruited me t' go undercover an' help t' break up a gang ring in Heliohex. Managed t' get inta th' inner circle of the boss-mech, a dude who called 'imself Chief. Long story short, th' sting went perfectly, but Chief escaped. He turned up on Earth a week ago an' contacted me fer a meetin'. Somehow he found out that I was th' undercover agent an' that Prowl had headed th' op. Gave me an ultimatum- kill Prowl or he'd have some o' my buddies knocked off."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Optimus asked.  
Jazz shook his head. "Couldn't risk it. M' plan was t' make it look like I'd popped Prowl, then give th' heads up t' the boys back home once Chief took th' bait an' left th' planet. If I'd told ya, it'd make it that much harder t' keep th' plan quiet. A secret ain't a secret if more than one 'bot knows 'bout it. One wrong word and it'd be lights out fer a few folks."

"An' what about th' distributor cap an' the holograms?" Ironhide interrupted.  
"Took the cap an' doctored it t' look like the cap off of Prowl's spark chamber as proof of th' kill f' Chief." Jazz explained. "Had t' alter th' holograms t' stall fer time. Otherwise, y' woulda caught me too quick."

The special ops officer stood up straight and squared his shoulders, visored head still hanging. "Do whatcha want t' me. I deserve it fer what I did."

* * *

_Methinks there will be a few cries of 'I knew it!' at this point;)_ _Many, many thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing this, but don't stop yet, for as the friendly telemarketer says 'But wait, there's more!'_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 7

Jazz sat with his legs crossed, hands in his lap and his back pressed to the cool wall of his cell. Autobot law stated that in cases where injury was caused but not with intent to kill, the guilty party could only be brought to trial when the injured brought charges against them. Until Prowl regained consciousness, and for his own protection, Jazz was relegated to solitary confinement in the brig.

The Special Ops officer sighed and picked listlessly at the ragged edge of the tire in his calf. After meeting with Chief long enough to hand over the doctored distributor cap, he had driven to his patrol route and used a knife to slash his own tires, running the rest of the way back to the Ark and damaging his ankle joint in the process.

Short cuts and a fair dint of reckless driving had allowed him enough time to perform his distasteful task. Shame and guilt had kept him from going to get repairs. Jazz knew that if he had stepped inside the Repair Bay the smells of metabolised energon, oil and hydraulic fluid would have driven him to premature confession. Ironically, when Mirage had jumped him he had been on his way to Prime's office to spill the entire story.

A shadow of a wry smile ghosted across Jazz's face. He knew that he'd left enough clues to eventually get caught, but he hadn't expected anyone to put them together that quickly. And seeing how some of those clues had been restricted to officers only, Mirage obviously hadn't lost his knack with locks and security systems either.

He leaned back and let his head touch the wall, shutting off his optics and sensing the vibrations of feet and voices and life further on and higher up in the base traveling through the walls. A particularly strong tremor rippled through the metal. Jazz imagined it to be one of Wheeljack's experiments gone haywire as usual. Or maybe the twins were roughhousing again in the rec room, that wasn't too far away, the vibrations could have easily traveled the distance. A drumroll of thuds could have easily been the Dinobots walking down a hall, a low drone the engine of someone heading out for patrol.

Something changed.

Jazz snapped his optics on again, his honed sensors easily picking up the tell tale signs of another's passage. Air moved, the floor vibrated, latent energy readings altered, the slightest whiff of energon accompanied by the hiss and slide of pistons and gears. A section of wall rippled like water, revealing a glossy frame painted midnight blue and two optics that glowed a sooty, flame like orange.

"Well now, how the trusted have fallen." The newcomer sneered.  
"Chief." Jazz growled, coming to his feet and facing the glowing energy bars. "Whadda you doin' in here riskin' your hide?"  
The Neutral smirked. "Just checking up on my old buddy Hi-Line." He replied, using the pseudonym that Jazz had adopted all those years ago. "I didn't actually think you could do it." Chief continued. "Shooting your friend in cold oil like that. It seems that your time in the clan served you well."  
"So you're here to gloat? Seems kinda petty t' me." Jazz shot back, arms crossed over his chest.

"I'm here to make you pay." Chief growled. "As you can see, I can get in and out of this place easily enough. I could have killed both you and Prowl myself, not to mention half this base. Ah, but to cause you, my once trusted ally, to kill your friend is so much more fun."  
"I doubt you'll be 'round too much longer t' enjoy it." The black and white said calmly. "I sent off a message t' Cybertron 'fore I got caught. They'll have staked out every space port from here t' the Galactic Fringe. Not t' mention th' 'cons have a real distaste fer Neutrals, an' Megatron is sure t' have decoded th' message an' put a bounty on y' by now."

Chief smirked again. "By 'they' I assume that this belonged to one of them?" He asked, pulling a small item from subspace and tossing it through the humming bars. Jazz caught the object and examined it for a moment, the silver links of a fine chain glittering against his black painted hand. Something inside him snapped and he lunged for the other mech, fingers stiffened into claws, only to let out a yelp of pain as he hit the energy bars and ricocheted off them.

The Neutral laughed as Jazz staggered drunkenly, hitting a wall with his shoulder and finally sliding to the floor. "Too much passion Jazz, too much fire." He chided. "Revenge must never be taken in the heat of the moment. It must be drawn out and allowed to brew, lingering and savoured." Chief placed a device over the door lock and the energy bars shorted out. The midnight blue mech stepped inside and roughly hauled Jazz to his feet, a hook-pointed knife glinting from his clenched fist. "It's a shame you won't be able to learn from this lesson." He smiled cruelly, fingers wrapped around Jazz's throat.

Jazz, still reeling from slamming into the energy bars, could only bite back a scream as Chief found a seam in his armour and slowly pushed the knife into his right side. The black and white knew exactly what Chief was going to do, he'd been unfortunate enough to see a mech dispatched in this manner during his undercover op.

Chief pushed the knife about halfway in, then twisted it to split the seam. Jazz's knees buckled from the pain, but the much stronger Chief kept him pinned. Then, excruciating slowly, Chief drew the blade back out, a bundle of half cut wires and tubing snagged in the hook point of the knife. The Autobot wasn't able to contain his cry of pain this time. Grinning like a mad-mech, the Neutral shook the knife free and shifted his grip to plunge it in again.

_Clink_

"Care telling me what you're doing in here?" A familiar voice asked. Chief stiffened and froze as a gun muzzle tapped the back of his head. Through the blinding haze of agony, Jazz managed to force out one word. "'Raj."

The blue and white spy faded into view. "I would advise you drop the knife. There are two more Autobots on their way, and you can't possibly fight us all."  
"I don't have to." Chief replied, jabbing the knife point under Jazz's chin. "I suggest you put down the gun, or else your friend here gets it."  
Mirage's reply was to thumb the safety off his gun. "Drop it." He growled, his cultured tones taking on a sinister edge.

"You're an Autobot, you wouldn't kill a mech." Chief replied, but Jazz could detect a slight quaver in his voice.  
"Says who?" Mirage asked. "I could shoot you right now, quickly and fairly painlessly. But Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, they're a different story all together, and they're almost here. Now, drop the knife and put your hands behind your head. You have until the count of five. One, two, three…"

The knife clattered to the ground, quickly followed by Jazz as the black and white lost his battle to stay online.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 8

Something far too bright was shining into his optics.

"Owww…" Jazz groaned, draping one arm over his face to block out the light. His side ached with the familiar sting of fresh welding, and the tang of energon and cleaning solution told the Porsche that he was in the repair bay. He gingerly opened his optics and let them adjust before he peeled his arm away from his visor to take a look around. Yup, it was the repair bay alright.

Cautiously, Jazz levered himself into a partial sitting position and rolled off the berth, mindful of his recent repairs and not wanting to invoke the CMO's wrath by pulling it all out of place. Ratchet tended to get a little narrow-minded about such things.

Surprisingly, the Repair Bay was empty. Jazz took a couple of steps out of his small ward and looked around, then stopped in his tracks. Prowl was sitting on a bench at the other end of the main ward, a temporary patch welded onto his chest as he read a data pad. The Special Ops officer backed up slowly.

Even though when roused the Prime's anger was down right terrifying, Jazz would have much preferred to re-wind the past two days and confess the whole story to a furious Optimus than face up to the mech he had shot.

Jazz took another step back and flinched. His still un-repaired ankle joint cracked like a pistol shot in the near silence. There was no way that Prowl could not have heard it, so with a sigh, Jazz walked back to where Prowl could see him, the tactician already having risen to investigate the sound.

There was an awkward silence.

Prowl broke it first. "Ratchet thought that it would be best that we sort this out on our own." He said, door wings twitching slightly in a nervous tic. "He guessed that you would try to sneak away when you saw me, so he left your ankle un-repaired."  
"Yeah, he guessed right." Jazz sighed, refusing to look Prowl in the optic. "Look, I shot you, an' it's somethin' I'm pretty ashamed of, so whatever punishment y' wanna ask for, I ain't gonna argue 'bout it."  
"Punishment can only be given when charges are pressed, and I'm not going to do that."  
Jazz's head snapped up. "Y' not? But…"

"Prime explained the situation to me and I have had ample time to think on it." Prowl interrupted. "Chief had you cornered, there was little other choice. In the same situation, I may have made the same decision." The Datsun paused for a moment. "And there is no reason to worry about the others. Chief has been very talkative while you were unconscious, though I feel it may have had more to do with the Dinobotsand the twinsthan any real desire to make the truth known."

"Heh, ol' Grimmy can be quite th' convincer when he wants t' be." Jazz chuckled, his trademark grin slowly returning to his face.  
"Quite." Prowl replied mildly.

"Well then, there's just one last thing t' clear up." Jazz said.  
"What?" Prowl asked.  
"Hit me." The Porsche instructed.  
"What!"  
"Hit. Me." Jazz repeated. "It's a Special Ops thing. If y' have t' shoot someone while on an op, they get t' hit you once y' get back. Debt o' honour type stuff."  
"I take it you've been in this sort of situation before?" Prowl queried, stalling for time as he tried to figure out a way of getting out of it.  
Jazz shrugged. "Moreth'n once." He lifted his chin and braced himself. "Now hit me 'fore I make you hit me."

Knowing that the Porsche could get quite pedantic about issues of restitution and not wishing to cause a scene, Prowl doubled his fist and lightly cuffed Jazz on the shoulder. "Debt paid." He smiled. Jazz grinned back. "Debt paid indeed."

Fin

* * *

_Just wanted to say a heartfelt thankyou to- Ultra Rodimus, Draange, Tiamat1972, Hika, Tirya King, TruebornChaos, DesertCat87, turbomagnus, Leah, Angelus Prime, Angel of Forgotten Souls, Lizzy, Straya, DeltaSilver88, MajesticBurn, Professot-Aiden, PuraJazzBot, and anyone that I've missed for reading and reviewing this thing. If it wasn't for you guys, this fic might never have happened_


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